


Control

by quinngrey



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blow Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 03:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14865899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinngrey/pseuds/quinngrey
Summary: In which Fingolfin gets to be in control.





	Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astorey_91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astorey_91/gifts).



> For a request seeking Fëanor/Fingolfin, bondage, bottom!Fëanor for elf-in-a-mask

Fingolfin wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get Feanor in this position, but with his elder brother’s arms bound above his head and his legs spread with ankles bound securely on either side of Feanor’s own bed, he was a vision to behold. Formenos was colder than Tirion, and even with the fire crackling in the hearth at the far end of the room, he could see the gooseflesh rising on Feanor’s bare skin. He couldn’t be sure if it was in anticipation or simply the chill, but he sincerely hoped for the first. A voice broke him out of his distraction. Feanor. Right. 

“If I knew you were going to stand there ogling me like an idiot, I wouldn’t have let you in in the first place,” Feanaro snapped, far more fierce than someone in his position ought to speak. 

“You didn’t let me in,” Nolo shrugged. And it was true. His brother hadn’t simply let him in, but rather, Nolofinwe had pushed his way through the door and refused to be kicked out. 

Gritting his teeth, the subtle shift in his sharp jawline visible, Feanaro did not break the stare he held on his half-brother. Fingolfin had no right to be here, not after Tirion, not after the Valar placed their judgement and banished him, and yet there he had stood. Had pushed his way into Feanor’s own modest home, had grabbed tightly into Feanor’s thin linen shirt, and had pulled him into a damning kiss. It had been a surprise, though not an unwelcome one. He was angry, yes, and he had every right to be mistrustful and furious, but instead of shoving the other away, Feanaro forced himself closer. 

That had been his first mistake. There were far too many others that led to him being tied to his own bed, losing his physical control over the situation entirely. 

Nolo watched his brother tug at the restraints binding his wrists, disliking the way they were even the slightest bit slack, but before Feanaro could voice that discontent, Nolo was adjusting the thick twine until there was no give. “You ought to be grateful you’re short,” he commented, offhand. “You’d never be able to tie me up like this on your little bed.”

The fire was back in Feanor’s eyes, a biting comment on the tip of his tongue silenced only as Nolo leaned in, kissing him with the roughness they both craved. Despite his words, even Fingolfin didn’t fully forgive Feanor for threatening him with the tip of his sword pressed to his throat. He still bore a small scar from where the point had broken the skin, though mostly because his fingers had picked and picked the scab until he knew the mark would be there for the rest of his long days. 

Bed creaking as Feanor’s hips rose from the bed, his shoulders pressed firmly down as he sought more, Nolo finally pulled away, his teeth catching his brother’s lip and tugging it with him. Earning a groan from his elder brother, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of accomplishment warming him from within his chest. Still, he knew Feanor wouldn’t keep still for long, nor would his patience be in abundance. Every moment that he didn’t act, he was pressing his luck. 

And yet he took his time, shedding his travel worn cloak and overshirt until he was left in just his undershirt, breeches, and boots. He had worn no armor, not wanting to incite further suspicion, even though he had no traveled alone and his companions had dressed for possible ambush. Further, he also wore no ornaments or jewels, save for the sapphire ring Feanor had made him when he had come of age years ago.

“On with it, damn you,” Feanaro finally spat, though it held far less fire than before. There was even a hint of desperation in his tone, if Nolo was reading it correctly. Feanaro wore no masks, after all. His emotions were open for all to see, not carefully hidden away as the Noldor often prided themselves on. And in his face, in the way his chest heaved with each breath, Nolofinwe was thankful to see desire where he had expected malice.

“Impatient as ever, brother-”

“Half.”

“Half-brother, then,” he frowned slightly, though his expression evened out quickly to its neutral state, hiding the hurt. “You are the one who wished to be bound as you are, after all.”

Feanor bit his tongue, his silver eyes darkening even as he looked away for the first time since they had begun, colour tinting his tanned skin. He didn’t remark further, instead setting his gaze upon the ceiling. It wasn’t a lie, he had asked for this, but he hadn’t expected his half-brother to accept. Their relationship these last few hundred years had grown cold, no longer the same playful innocence of their youth. Fëanor was older, sharper, and Fingolfin has usurped his place in so many ways, but now? Now he was making the conscious decision to let the other assume control, instead of having it taken from him. When cool fingers ran up the side of his thigh, Feanaro closed his eyes and exhaled softly.

It was in that exhale that Nolo knew he held the control in this situation, that the other was letting go and giving the reins to him. In all his life, his brother had to be in charge, had to have his hand in everything (even the things he didn’t even like!), especially if Nolofinwë had taken an interest in it. The political sphere with their father, no less, had been a constant power struggle in which Fëanor didn’t even want to be a politician, but he refused to give it up completely to Nolo out of what the younger could only assume was pride. It was pride, or dare he think it, that Fëanor didn’t think he was good enough. But now in this room, Fingolfin was more than good enough, and Fëanáro let his pride fall to the wayside. 

“Are you… Is that all you’re doing?”

Fëanáro’s voice once again pulled Nolo from his thoughts, and he quickly found himself apologizing. “No, sorry, you’re just… beautiful like this,” he concluded softly, joining his older brother on the bed. Climbing between the other’s legs, he trailed fingers feather light along the outside and inside of Fëanáro’s thighs, making him squirm and tug the restraints. 

With a smile, Nolo bent down, pressing soft kisses along the other’s abdomen, his fingers fluttering up the length of Fëanáro’s cock. The touch earned another glorious groan, heady with arousal. Despite that it had been some time since he had been with another of his sex, and even longer since him and Fëanáro were intimate in any way, Nolo’s long memory didn’t fade. 

Fëanáro’s eyes stayed closed as he gave way to the sensations of smooth hands upon his skin. His half-brother did not have callouses from the forge as he himself did, but the unmarred flesh that came from a life of politics and privilege. And yet those hands felt brilliant on him, cooler than his own body, as long fingers wrapped his cock and caressed in such leisurely strokes. Cock twitching, fully aroused in the other’s palm, he found himself moaning once more. 

Dipping down to litter soft kisses along the muscles of Fëanáro’s torso, Nolo took his time granting the other pleasure. It was always a rush with Fëanor and he hated it. This time, he would go slow. This time he was in control and the other had to relinquish himself, not the other way around. His lips brushed soft above, them below his elder’s navel, trailing kisses to the bone of his hip and the subtle curve of his waist. 

“Use your mouth,” Fëanáro commanded, though his voice was a tad more breathless than he would have preferred. And yet, the other didn’t follow suit as he might have in days long since past. Instead, Nolo gave him a devious smirk, defiance in his eyes as his lips hovered above the proud cock against Fëanáro’s stomach. 

“You do not hold power here, brother,” Nolo reminded, the ghost of his warm breath against the other’s aching need. “By these bounds, you are mine to do with as I please.”

Fëanáro groaned, a sound of equal parts frustration and need, forcing his hips off the bed and trying to make Nolo touch him where he desired it most. Nolo was too quick, avoiding the movement and laughing. “Relax. Let me take the burden from your weary shoulders, let me bring you to completion,” he smiled, tone smooth as ever.

Slumped back down onto the bed with an exaggerated huff, Fëanáro said no more. Had he not asked for this? Was this not exactly what he had wanted? Still, he hadn’t expected Fingolfin to follow through so steadfast. His thoughts were cut short when those cool fingers wrapped his length, and hot mouth enveloped the tip of his cock. 

The taste was earthy, salty, and it was heavy on his tongue. Nolo swirled the tip of his tongue around the head, swiping across the slit as his gaze flicked upward. Fëanáro’s silver eyes were on his own, intense burning so captivating that Nolo felt as though he had lost his breath. Ever still he sunk further, not daring break eye contact lest it be seen as a defeat. His hand stroked at the base as his head bobbed up and down, cheeks hollowed. 

Fëanáro’s breath hitched at the sight, and without a moment’s hesitation his head fell back, eyes closing. The sensation was overwhelming, damp heat and delightful friction making his hair stand on end. His arms pulled at the restraints, an almost pathetic whine escaping him at the thought that he couldn’t bury his fingers into that curly mass of dark hair, couldn’t fuck up into his half-brother’s mouth until he came down Fingolfin’s throat. But that wasn’t going to happen, bound as he was to the bedposts. 

The muffled moan that came from the back of Nolo’s throat, his mouth full of his brother’s cock, was a sure sign of his own arousal. His free hand had pushed into his breeches, easing the tension of his own desires. Nolo stroked himself in time with his hand on Fëanáro’s length, sucking the tip as his eyes fluttered closed. It was only the shifting of Fëanor’s hips that alerted him before thick, hot seed filled his mouth. Though he loved the idea of it, the taste was never something Fingolfin could get used to. Begrudgingly, he swallowed as much as he could manage, not taking his mouth off the other’s cock until he was spilling his own release into his hand. 

With a lewd pop, Fingolfin released the length from his lips, a string of saliva still connecting him. Fëanáro, blissful as he was, looked to the other and felt his heart skip. Nolofinwë’s face was flushed, his lips red and swollen, was a picture of wanton desire. His own eyes appeared glazed over, breath coming as quickly as Fëanor’s own. When Fingolfin smiled, he couldn’t help but smile back, relieved and relaxed for the first time in so long.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on tumblr @quinngreyy


End file.
